Saturday, July 18, 2009

Tales from the Drunk Side: Routes

Someone was talking about lineage just now, and something just pissed me off.

Si Tanggang. You know that story? In Indonesia, they call him Malim Kundang. A son left his mother in search of riches and managed to marry a princess. Upon going back to his village, his mother went to greet him with his favourite food.

And yet, he was so ashamed of his mother and the 'barbaric dish' that he cast her off and denied that he was her son. That she was a mad woman.

The mother cursed him and his whole ship, along with the princess, turned to stone. Tanggang either turned to stone of became a crow, forever to call out "Mak! Mak!" to beg forgiveness from his mother.

Some people claim a man-shaped stone in Indonesia is Malim Kundang, while people in Kuantan has some queer-looking rocks in Bukit Charas whom they believe to be Si Tangang.

What I hated was the fact that compilers and historians sanitised Si Tanggang's tale.

In the original, Tanggang's favourite food was 'siamang panggang' - barbecued monkey. In later texts, including a movie starring Neng Yatimah (I think), he was written as having liked 'pisang salai' - smoked bananas.

Fuck that, man.

It takes an especially gritty, tough people to capture monkeys and eat them. Any pussy-whipped metrosexual can scarf down smoked bananas. Only barbarians and pirates can eat monkeys.

Malays used to be pagans. We ate monkeys. And we should be proud that we fucking ate monkeys. We didn't fuck monkeys, I hope. But we ate them.

That's so fucking cool.

What is this sanitised pablum bullshit?

My own ancestors were royal pirates and holy men who walked the earth like Kwai Chang Caine. Cantonese and Kelantanese landowners. Cattle-herders. And later, teachers.

When I first came to KL, most Malays I meet were fucking apologists. For what? We were not African slaveowners. We were Malay slaveowners. Our slavery was with our own race. The whole JWW Birch thing in Perak (again!) was because of, amongst other things, slavery.

And even white Americans - a lot of them came to America long after slavery was abolished. Some, after World War 2.

And we're not fucking white!

Malays are a shade of brown.

We need not apologise for the NEP. First of all, what the fuck is the NEP? The only thing I got from the NEP were two free bags of manure.

Sure, I got into a full-residential school(cause I ranked top 400 in the cunt-ry for UPSR). Ooh. Big fucking deal. I had to watch my ass for five years. I'd trade my glorious SPM results - 8 aggregates, foo! - for normal teenage memories at a normal school.

UM? Hell, man. I spent five years eating roti canai, maggi goreng and the only pussy available were Malay pussy. I would have loved to trade all that with experience at overseas universities where you can fuck redheads, man. Or Thais.

And PTPTN? Hell, you know the kind of fucked up trouble I got into. I won't be like stupid MARA loan-defaulters. I'll pay, and never run away. But it's all fucked up. And that PTPTN is available for everyone. NOT NEP.

I don't believe anyone should apologise for being anything. Malay, gay, lesbian, lactose-intolerant, hardworking or even intelligent.

Except Jonas Brothers', Harry Potter and Twilight fans. Yeah, that, you HAVE to apologise. Profusely.

The Jonas Brothers can't help being Jonas Brothers, but you have a choice in that fucked up shit. I JUDGE THEE!

If the Jonas Brothers come here, I'd feed them barbecued monkey and see if they like it or refuse local hospitality.

Anyway, I do not apologise for shit I didn't do. And if I'm too smart, too talented, too fast for you, then fuck off and die.

The only person to ever intimidate me completely was myself. I reserve and observe respect for some people, especially those who demonstrate skills I currently do not have.

Now that I am beyond being insecure, I don't get insecure people. People who compare and compete with everything. EVERYTHING!

Look, the worst thing you can do for yourself is to believe in your own hype. You get complacent. You don't grow. You stagnate, and you die a monkey. Barbecued. Smoked.

I mean, check this out. Things NOT in my resume: I wrote two poems in a delirious, flu-induced shit, and Lisa Surihanie and Rahim Razali read them on TV. My name was like, six feet high. Never said this, but it was an honour, sir.

Now, if I believed my own hype, I'd fucking go and be a poet. I could fuck more girls, but my books would never sell. I have written no books - just A book, singular, so far - but if I was a poet, I'd have published books. Books and books and books. Books of crap.

I'm no fucking poet. My parents didn't raise any poets. Cheese-eating surrender monkeys.

Poetry, in some cases, is cheating. Free verse my ass.

I've written and am writing what, seven? 10 movies? I wrote in every medium made available to me.

Big screen, small screen, LCD screen, CRT shit, whatever the fuck.

If I believed I was fucking fantastic enough, and could never get any better, I'd fucking kill myself tomorrow.

Cause the old media, that's what's killed them. What's killing them. Complacency. Believing their own hype. New media was heading that way.

"Oooh, I'm a blogger, nyeee!"

"I got 8,000 hits a day, nyeee!" - trivia: whenever I reach 8,000 hits a day, I delete my blog.

Media is the gateway where information passes. It is not the source. We are cooks, chefs. We are not cows. We did not make the beef, we handle the meat and turn it into meatloaf.

For every person who thinks blogs are fucking cool, there would be 10 who think it's shitty and inconsequential. Trivial and fake.

If you can handle that, you'll be fine. If you can't, well, my name is Inigo Montoya, prepare to die!

Humility need not be demonstrated with bowed heads. You can have humility in your work. Not in your demeanour.

And don't worry about God.

God is fair. He giveth and He taketh away. Awayeth.

I mean, I may be the most good-looking person ever. EVAR! Especially with this new haircut. But I don't think I'll ever be rich enough to buy The Binjai apartments. Or a Lamborghini. I don't think I even want to. What the fuck for, man? Malaysian roads have speedbumps. After a week, that Lambo will have fucking potholes INSIDE the car.

Fuck it! Fuck the beat! I go a capella!

Fuck a clock, fuck a dock fuck everybody! Fuck all a-you doubt me!

I am a descendant of monkey-eating pirate-barbarians, and I say it proudly.

Here, tell these people something they don't know about me.